


Flyboy

by Broken_Clover



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I don't know how to tag this, M/M, Plot Relevant Pizza, Slight Canon Divergence, slight crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_Clover/pseuds/Broken_Clover
Summary: Alternate ending for the mission 'Frame Team Belgium' wherein Murray's antics result in him falling in with a group of Belgian pilots.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Flyboy

**Author's Note:**

> Was replaying Sly 3 in quarantine and this concept just came to me during the mission. I apologize in advance. Also for something that was supposed to be a short gag fic I have put way too much time into this. 
> 
> Also I'm still trying to figure out how to write the characters okay but Murray is a lot of fun to play around with.

The job was going off without a hitch, and everything was going smoothly. He’d seen Bentley sneak up and slip the handkerchief out of the dog’s pocket without anyone giving the situation a second look. The pilot himself was still laughing so hard that he couldn’t stand up, meaning he was too preoccupied to realize what had happened even after Bentley was long gone to make the swap with Sly. He had done everything he needed to perfectly for his part of the task.

...But that still meant Murray was stuck in the middle of the hotel floor with a hand in his mouth.

“Bahaha! Oh, oh-” The pilot managed to calm his laughter, though he remained doubled over as he clung onto his ribs. “My sincerest apologies, I don’t know what came over me. It has been a long time since I have laughed like this!”

“Ith’s fime.” Murray twisted an arm and thankfully felt his hand come loose, though he was still in awe all of that had happened in the first place. “Um, surprised that’s the one that got ya! Usually my pals lose it at the chicken joke.”

“Your…’pals?’” The man asked, still with a smile on his face. “Ah, apologies, my friends tell me I have a face of stone. I am not used to being walked up to! But I will admit, you make me feel quite welcome here, strange hippo.”

This was the part of the job they didn’t plan for. Trying to find a good reason out of the situation. Murray wasn’t especially confident at having to do the talking, he was well-aware he wasn’t the most subtle person. But he’d been willing to do this, now he had to find an excuse to leave and rendezvous back home at the safehouse.

“Really, no problem.” He replied, glancing off to try and find the door.

“Not so! Not so. These people and I speak the same language, yet how different we are! I have not met many kind strangers here.” The man stood back up to his full height. “That jacket, are you here for the ACES?”

Without thinking, Murray responded. “Yeah.”

“Ah! I could guess. American? I was told there would be an American team tomorrow, will I be seeing you in the sky?”

“Uh, no, I’m not actually a pilot.” He said, trying to find a way to make the man bored with the conversation. “I just help out my buddy, he’s the pilot.”

Despite his efforts, the dog nodded, clearly intrigued. “I see! I am sure he is lucky to have you.” He put a hand on his chest and gave a polite little bow. “Fynn. Belgian plane 18.”

Well, he was completely lost. Murray was just about ready to run for the door, regardless of how bizarre it would have looked. Fynn seemed completely undisturbed by how weirdly he must have been acting, at least he had that going for him.

“I will admit, I am nervous.” He continued on, suddenly looking a bit more uneasy. “This is my first competition. So far away from home. And the stories! Planes are not always safe. I am barely old enough to compete. It is frightening, but…” He perked up. “But you are so welcoming! I almost feel like I am at home.”

Murray at least managed a sheepish grin. “Well, uh, glad I could help?”

Fynn seemed to have a realization. “I did not mean to distract you, my apologies. I am sure you are very busy with your…’pals.’ Please, do not let me interrupt. But I appreciate your kindness! I feel a little better.”

“Hey, no problem! Glad I-”

“Fynn?

“Ah!” He lit up, apparently recognizing the voice. When Murray looked off in the same direction, he recognized the same-colored jackets worn by the approaching group. Must have been the rest of team Belgium.

He moved to leave, but Fynn grabbed his arm. “Strange hippo! These are my friends!”

The dogs began to talk in a language he didn’t know, though the aside glances had to mean it was about him. Murray realized that having more people around staring at him meant it would be even more difficult to leave without attracting attention. At least he knew he wasn’t running late, Bentley wouldn’t need him for at least a few hours, but he really would have liked to celebrate a successful mission with some food and a few hours of sleep.

“Hahaha! I felt the same way.” Fynn turned back to him. “My friends have taken a liking to you! Strange- ah, may I please have your name?”

He hesitated, but ultimately complied. “Murray.”

“Murray! Mu-rray, a very good name!” The dog gave an emphatic nod. “Tell me, how did the one about the chicken go again? I think Alexi will find it very humorous! 

“Huh? Oh.” He scratched his head, trying to recall. “So, uh, why did the chicken cross the road to France?”

“Yes! Yes yes, I remember now. Alexi!” Fynn turned back to his companions and began happily prattling on in...Dutch? He knew ‘Belgian’ wasn’t a language, he’d already asked Bentley beforehand. At least they didn’t need to do too much talking with the other competitors, this one aside.

The dogs burst into uproarious laughter. It was a little shocking to witness. Hadn’t Bentley said they were supposed to be stoic? Was he just _that_ good at making jokes? That put a little spark of pride in his chest.

“I was correct! Jokes do not always translate well to our mother tongue, but they very much liked it!” Fynn managed to say, in between giggles. “Perhaps we should make more American friends, if they are all as funny as you!”

Murray stood up a little straighter. “Fat chance! ‘The Murray’ is a one-of-a-kind comedy machine!”

“That sounds correct! Well, then I am lucky to have met you!”

Another conversation began between the pilots. One of them, differentiated by a large patch stitched to the front of his jacket, seemed to be leading it. Was that Alexi?

In his moment of distraction, Fynn was off communing with them. At least this time, their conversation seemed to be something else other than him. Was it plans for tomorrow? He wished he could understand them, maybe that would have been useful to the mission...

After a few more lines of conversation, Fynn came back and tapped on his arm. “Murray!”

“What are they saying?”

“They are saying, ‘we will be ordering food soon!’ I have never had pizza before!” Fynn’s eyes began shining. “You are American, you must be an expert! Please, you have to join us!”

Pizza? That was hard to resist. And it wasn’t like the guys were gonna need him for a bit…

Even if he wasn’t interested, Fynn began pulling him along. “You will have to tell me all about it! I have been told there are many delicious things that can be put upon it! Alexi! We will be feasting with the expert! He will tell us what is good.”

The dogs seemed happy to see him again, and what he guessed was their leader guided him along. Fynn suddenly vanished behind him, though when he tried to look back, the pilot seemed displeased that Alexi was pulling on his arm. There wasn’t much point in dwelling on it, as the sweeping ceilings of the hotel lobby turned into a cramped but cozy suite, still full of suitcases that were half-unpacked.

“Welcome to our room, Murray!” Said Alexi. “It is small, but still very comfortable! You are welcome to...ah, what was that English phrase…’make yourself at home.’”

The pilots went back to their chatter, while their leader began counting heads. “Where is Mattis?”

“He went to check the hangar.” One piped up. “Paranoia.”

“Bah!” Alexi gave Murray a good-natured smile. “We are not naive. The new security is impossible to get past. There is nothing to worry about!”

Murray suddenly felt uneasy. They certainly weren’t going to be in such a good mood once they found their prize plane smashed to bits. Especially if they found out who was responsible…

He was starting to feel a little bad. It wasn’t anything personal, but getting up close with the people whose stuff he’d broken was awkward when they seemed perfectly nice. Not like he was really hurting them, right? He couldn’t just blow the whole operation just because he felt bad about it.

“Now, let us feast! Dogfights take energy, so we must stay fed!”

Fynn hurried past with a menu flyer. “I have found it, Alexi! So many options to pick, but now we have an expert!”

The whole group crowded themselves into the front entrance. Murray found a place to sit on one of the couches, with the rest of them settling on other nearby chairs or right on the floor, circled around him. Under most circumstances, being surrounded by what was supposed to be the enemy meant he should have been raring to crack skulls and go nuts. But this was fun too, in its own way, having a dozen or so Belgian pilots all paying attention to what he had to say.

“We are ready to learn!” Said Alexi. “What kind of pizza is the best?”

“Tonight we will feast like kings!” One said, thrusting a fist in the air.

“Hopefully those Iceland mutts have already settled down.” Another added. “I fear if their racket went on much longer, I would have wanted to fight them early.” 

Alexi burst into laughter, along with the rest of them. “Those Icelanders, always so noisy. At least they should be all asleep now. No interruptions while we eat! Now, which kind is best? What does the expert say?”

Murray realized that was his cue to speak. “Okay, so what you wanna focus on first is a good base. Tomato sauce and mozzarella are the ultimate classic, so for first-timers you’re not gonna want to go too crazy. But the real beast here is the toppings! I hope you’re taking notes, this is important!”

In the corner, Fynn actually appeared to be writing something down. “The important thing to know is that there’s no wrong topping for pizza. Except for olives. But aside from that, you can make any combination! You’re only limited by what you can think of!”

“But what do _you_ recommend?” One asked.

“Great question!” In a weird way, it almost reminded him of being back in Australia. Except there, his master would be the one speaking as he looked on in awe, and whatever he was saying would probably be more worldly and deep than pizza toppings.

“I see, I see.” Alexi nodded as he finished. “Well, we have a lot of dogs to feed, so we will have to buy a variety! How much would you like?”

That took Murray out of whatever focus he’d managed. “Huh?”

“For the pizza! It would be disrespectful to not feed a guest. You can stay for dinner, yes?”

That would have been the perfect opportunity to find an excuse to leave, but...geez, it was hard when they all looked so eager and happy to have him there. “I guess I can’t argue with that?”

The pilots burst into cheers. Maybe Sly and Bentley wouldn’t be as mad with him if he brought them back leftovers…

“Murray!” Fynn was suddenly at his side again. “That was amazing! I did not know there was so much to learn!”

“Aw, well, it’s just pizza! Everyone should know how good it is.”

“You really are a fascinating one! Smart and silly at the same time. I love it very much!” Murray realized Fynn was holding his hand. “There is time before it is delivered, yes? Until then, may I show you my room?”

The purpose of it eluded him, but he didn’t want to be rude. “Sure! Not like I’m doing anything.”

“Alexi!” Fynn called, as he pulled the hippo along to another door. Once he had the dog’s attention, he rattled something off again in that odd language that Murray couldn’t follow. Alexi sure sounded happy, though, as he offered his co-pilot an enthusiastic whoop.

“What was that about?”

“Just telling him where I was going.” Fynn replied. “Now, forget about Alexi, please tell me all about you!”

++++++

It felt awkward to duck out, even though he’d spent far more time with the Belgians than he should have. It was just so easy to get caught up in the excitement of it all. Hopefully the neatly-wrapped box of leftover pizza would be enough of a peace offering to keep Bentley from getting too mad at him. His coat felt a little tighter though, maybe he’d eaten too much? Oh well, not like he was going to need it.

At least the safehouse was only a brief walk from the hotel, aside from an awkward shimmy onto the balcony it didn’t take much time or effort to slip off the streets and back into their temporary home base.

Sly was dozing on the sofa and Bentley was busy with a piece of high-tech something-or-other, but the sound of the door clattering was enough to catch their attention. “Murray?”

“Guys! Hey guys, I’m back!”

“Murray!” Bentley half-shouted, wheeling over to him. “There you are!”

“Long time no see, big guy. Was starting to think I needed to go on a rescue mission.”

“I got all caught up with the Belgians. They just wouldn’t let me go! And I know you said we had to be stealthy and all, so…” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “Man, ‘The Murray’ is not good at being subtle.”

Bentley looked him over for a moment, before shaking his head. “It’s alright. I can appreciate your efforts to not arouse any suspicion. Like I said, this is a delicate operation. It’s better to be overly-cautious than to be reckless. Besides, thanks to your distraction, we had no trouble stealing the handkerchief and planting it on Team Iceland’s truck. They won’t suspect a thing!”

“Heck yeah! Nice job, guys. Why don’t you have some pizza to celebrate?”

“Now that is something I can get behind.” Sly slunk off of the couch and plodded over to the table while Murray dropped his cargo down and flipped the lid open. “Thanks for the leftovers, Murray!”

The three of them sat down and ate, without much fanfare. It suited Murray just fine. He still couldn’t help feeling embarrassed about the whole thing. As long as he hadn’t caused any real trouble, though, he doubted his friends were mad at him. He knew when they were mad at him. Bentley was more interested in eating and typing at his computer, looking pretty calm, and Sly was...

When Murray glanced up at him, Sly had a funny little smile on his face. “Uh, Murray?”

“Yeah?”

“Whose jacket are you wearing?”

That was a weird question. After all, hadn’t Sly seen it before? He didn’t wear it often, but it was pretty distinct-looking, and Sly of all people didn’t tend to forget stuff like-

Murray felt a jolt of shock as he looked down as himself. Sly hadn’t been wrong. It definitely wasn’t his. The bottle-green had been swapped with brown, and, as he realized to his horror, the awkward fit wasn’t a coincidence. How had he not even realized it? His exit hadn’t been the most careful, but how had he gotten so far and not noticed…?

He tried to think of how to respond. “I...uh…”

“Ugh, don’t make a scene, Sly.” Bentley chastised him. “Murray obviously must’ve grabbed the wrong one and left his in the lobby. It’s a jacket, not the end of the world. Besides, we’ve still got bigger things to worry about.”

“Right, of course.” It didn’t get rid of that odd look, but Sly seemed more interested in things other than him. “Is the plane all fueled for tomorrow?”

“Of _course_ it is. Everything has been double-checked by yours truly. Just make sure you get enough sleep so you’re up bright and early for the dogfight.”

“Always do.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Bentley clicked his teeth, going back to typing. “Murray, can you pass another slice of mushroom?”

“No problem, buddy.” Murray shoved over the box, hoping that the open lid would be able to hide the fact that he was currently about three shades redder than normal.


End file.
